leaped up to turn it off. But when she picked up the oven gloves the phone started ringing in the hall.
‘Oh! Would you mind?’ said Joyce, passing Hazel the oven gloves and hurrying out to answer it.
Hazel found a heat-resistant mat hanging on a nail and carefully placed the quiche on it on the table. Then she turned off the oven and sat waiting for Joyce to reappear. Her eyes passed over the stack of estate agents’ brochures at her elbow. She picked up the top one and her eyebrows shot up. It was a huge thatched farmhouse in two acres of land and with a price tag to match. Extraordinary, what houses seemed to be worth now. Then, hearing her friend coming back into the room, she hastily put the paper back on the pile.
‘That was Kate’s father,’ said Joyce in a distracted voice. ‘He sounded a bit agitated. Wants her to ring him.’
‘Can he catch her on her mobile?’
Joyce shook her head. ‘She’s lost the charger. She’s been managing without for weeks. He is funny, you know.’
‘Who?’
‘Major Carter. He’s very formal, and he never asks after the children. Isn’t that interested. He’s very wrapped up in his wife, you see. Barbara is never quite . . . well. She has been depressed for a long time. I told you about that awful business with Kate’s sister. Well, you never get over something like that, do you?’
‘Children are supposed to outlive one,’ Hazel said sadly.
Joyce picked up the slice and started to cut the quiche. The phone rang again. ‘Oh drat. Who can that be now?’
While she was out of the room, Hazel took the opportunity to flip through some more of the house prospectuses. Barn conversions, a fifteenth-century manor house, a modern architect-designed bungalow roofed with great solar panels. She let them drop again as Joyce returned.
‘One of Kate’s friends this time,’ Joyce said. ‘Claire. Nice girl but wears an extraordinary amount of eye make-up.’
As they started to eat, Hazel asked casually, ‘How are Kate and Simon getting on looking for a house, then?’
Joyce swallowed her mouthful too quickly. ‘Still no progress. Kate’s intent on finding somewhere nearby so the kids can stay at the school, while Simon wants somewhere nearer the station. They just can’t seem to agree. And to make it more difficult, Kate has some sort of ideal home in her mind. We all know there’s no such thing in reality. There’s always something wrong with a place.’
‘Have they really found nothing they like?’
‘There was one, last month. A Victorian rectory in a village halfway between here and Diss. I drove out to look at it with Kate one day. They put in an offer, but there were other bids and Simon wouldn’t go any higher. I could see that Kate really liked it but, no, he knew best. And he was very shirty with me when I supported Kate’s point of view. I got quite cross with him actually. After all, it’s difficult for me not to have some kind of opinion, isn’t it?’
‘You have to be ever so tactful,’ Hazel agreed, helping herself to more salad. ‘Sometimes with Gina and Andrew . . .’
‘As you can see,’ Joyce motored relentlessly on, ‘estate agents keep sending them more details, but Simon’s so busy at work he hasn’t got much energy at weekends to go out and look. Kate’s losing heart a bit.’
‘Is Simon coming home at all during the week now?’ Hazel asked, and watched in concern as Joyce slowly put down her knife and fork and pushed her plate away, half her lunch uneaten.
‘Hazel,’ she said, ‘that’s what’s really worrying me at the moment. That long journey is quite a strain on family life. Simon’s so caught up in his work, and he and Kate see less of each other than they did in London.’
‘That doesn’t seem right. What a shame.’
When Simon and Kate had first moved here, he had managed to be on the six o’clock train home most evenings or, at worst, the seven o’clock, unless he had a late meeting or was away on a
‘Oh! Would you mind?’ said Joyce, passing Hazel the oven gloves and hurrying out to answer it.
Hazel found a heat-resistant mat hanging on a nail and carefully placed the quiche on it on the table. Then she turned off the oven and sat waiting for Joyce to reappear. Her eyes passed over the stack of estate agents’ brochures at her elbow. She picked up the top one and her eyebrows shot up. It was a huge thatched farmhouse in two acres of land and with a price tag to match. Extraordinary, what houses seemed to be worth now. Then, hearing her friend coming back into the room, she hastily put the paper back on the pile.
‘That was Kate’s father,’ said Joyce in a distracted voice. ‘He sounded a bit agitated. Wants her to ring him.’
‘Can he catch her on her mobile?’
Joyce shook her head. ‘She’s lost the charger. She’s been managing without for weeks. He is funny, you know.’
‘Who?’
‘Major Carter. He’s very formal, and he never asks after the children. Isn’t that interested. He’s very wrapped up in his wife, you see. Barbara is never quite . . . well. She has been depressed for a long time. I told you about that awful business with Kate’s sister. Well, you never get over something like that, do you?’
‘Children are supposed to outlive one,’ Hazel said sadly.
Joyce picked up the slice and started to cut the quiche. The phone rang again. ‘Oh drat. Who can that be now?’
While she was out of the room, Hazel took the opportunity to flip through some more of the house prospectuses. Barn conversions, a fifteenth-century manor house, a modern architect-designed bungalow roofed with great solar panels. She let them drop again as Joyce returned.
‘One of Kate’s friends this time,’ Joyce said. ‘Claire. Nice girl but wears an extraordinary amount of eye make-up.’
As they started to eat, Hazel asked casually, ‘How are Kate and Simon getting on looking for a house, then?’
Joyce swallowed her mouthful too quickly. ‘Still no progress. Kate’s intent on finding somewhere nearby so the kids can stay at the school, while Simon wants somewhere nearer the station. They just can’t seem to agree. And to make it more difficult, Kate has some sort of ideal home in her mind. We all know there’s no such thing in reality. There’s always something wrong with a place.’
‘Have they really found nothing they like?’
‘There was one, last month. A Victorian rectory in a village halfway between here and Diss. I drove out to look at it with Kate one day. They put in an offer, but there were other bids and Simon wouldn’t go any higher. I could see that Kate really liked it but, no, he knew best. And he was very shirty with me when I supported Kate’s point of view. I got quite cross with him actually. After all, it’s difficult for me not to have some kind of opinion, isn’t it?’
‘You have to be ever so tactful,’ Hazel agreed, helping herself to more salad. ‘Sometimes with Gina and Andrew . . .’
‘As you can see,’ Joyce motored relentlessly on, ‘estate agents keep sending them more details, but Simon’s so busy at work he hasn’t got much energy at weekends to go out and look. Kate’s losing heart a bit.’
‘Is Simon coming home at all during the week now?’ Hazel asked, and watched in concern as Joyce slowly put down her knife and fork and pushed her plate away, half her lunch uneaten.
‘Hazel,’ she said, ‘that’s what’s really worrying me at the moment. That long journey is quite a strain on family life. Simon’s so caught up in his work, and he and Kate see less of each other than they did in London.’
‘That doesn’t seem right. What a shame.’
When Simon and Kate had first moved here, he had managed to be on the six o’clock train home most evenings or, at worst, the seven o’clock, unless he had a late meeting or was away on a
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